I'm Gonna Hide My Wings Tonight
by caelumdeity
Summary: In this world, Hamlet and Horatio only have one another, but...Hamlet's expression becomes determined as he leans forward and gazes deeply into Horatio's wide, grey-green eyes. Had he read Hamlet incorrectly a few seconds ago? Was this it? Was this Hamlet doubting him? AU slash


_A/N: What…did I just write? And I'm not even sorry. Haha! So, this is another AU, this time in some sort of futuristic dystopian setting, although not much of that actually shows through in the fic itself. Actually…I think I was imagining some sort of dystopian steampunk setting as I wrote if that helps any of you. Oh, and HamletxHoratio again, of course. Welp, I can try my best to explain anything, if anyone has any questions I suppose, but I'm positive that this time this will stay strictly as a one-shot. I hope you guys enjoy!_  
_Also, for those of you reading my other fic (Fate Does NOT Exist), I know I finally changed the status to "incomplete," and I swear I was fully intending to write more, but I've reached such a terrible writer's block for that fic, so I apologize. I'm not sure when I'll get that updated._  
_-caelumdeity_

* * *

**I'm Gonna Hide My Wings Tonight**

_I'll throw away my faith, babe,  
Just to keep you safe.  
Don't you know you're everything I have?  
_[-Angel With A Shotgun by The Cab]

When Horatio Falk had been given a hearty shove by Prince Hamlet's overwhelming charisma and had stumbled down the steep, rocky slope of friendship with the prince until he ungracefully and unceremoniously belly flopped into a veritable and all-consuming, but terrifying and wholly distressing, ocean of complete and utter love for the prince, he never expected to find himself where he is now.

That is, he would have never imagined he would be living on the run with the supposedly recently deceased prince, surviving day to day with barely a thought of whether or not they would make it to the next sunrise, all completely knowing what he was getting himself into and without nary a complaint. In fact, had someone told him he would end up living like this, he would have given them a disconcerting look of extreme concern before politely asking if he or she felt ill and would like some assistance. Just a year ago, he had even simply come to terms with the reality that he would be doomed to suffer in his unrequited love silently and resigned himself to a quiet, if not mildly stressful, life by the prince's side as his unofficial, maybe official, advisor. Such a future seemed like a nigh impossibility now.

Horatio clicks his tongue quietly in irritation at the thought, shifting in his position seated beside the currently peacefully sleeping prince. He pulls his cloak more tightly against him as a cool night breeze trails through the broken window of the rundown, abandoned apartment and checks to make sure that the prince is suitably insulated as well. They can't risk either of them getting sick, not now.

When the current king had succeeded his brother, the late king who had met an untimely and unknown demise, Hamlet had already had misgivings about his uncle, and hadn't wasted any time conveying his suspicions to Horatio. It was perhaps a month before the prince's assumed death two months ago that Horatio had started to catch on as well, and subsequently started frantically plotting with the prince. This left them where they are now, trying to find evidence so incriminating as to irrefutably overthrow Claudius' reign as the nation continues on in its excruciatingly slow descent into oblivion, all while disguising their presence and attempting to do so before the situation becomes irreversible.

They aren't completely without help, but Horatio secretly feels that such help isn't used to its full potential as Hamlet fails to trust anyone who isn't Horatio, even more so after the recent idiotic yet completely predictable fiasco with the poor souls whom Horatio never really bothered to separately distinguish and only knew by the names of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

The first time the two had been manipulated by the new king, Hamlet had managed to twist, blackmail, frighten, and otherwise coerce the two into lying to Claudius about the state of the prince's continued presence on the Earth, but that feeling of alliance had been promptly snuffed the week before. Guildenstern and Rosencrantz had undergone some sort of change of heart, and Horatio had stumbled upon them clumsily spying on him and the prince. Horatio had been mildly curious but mostly angry, and maybe even furious. He was about to ask them what they thought they were doing, but Hamlet beat him to it, shooting them both with a silenced gun before anyone could blink, a positively glacial gleam in his eyes. It would be a lie to say that Horatio hadn't felt terror pierce through him at that moment, no matter how short lived the fear had been.

Horatio frowns almost imperceptibly as he reaches down to softly brush a few of the prince's jet-black locks from his face and takes some comfort in knowing that Hamlet still trusts him enough to sleep so soundly by his side. Even though he would rather not think about it ever again, in the dark recesses of his mind, Horatio knows he is simply waiting for the day that Hamlet becomes suspicious of him as well. It's just how things are, and how Hamlet is; no matter how much the thought pains him there's nothing he can place the blame on.

"'Ratio…"

Horatio stills his hand as Hamlet shifts onto his side so that he can blink blearily up at him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

Hamlet simply looks at him for a moment before saying, "You should sleep, too."

Horatio blinks in surprise. "What's wrong?"

"'m cold," Hamlet lies as he extends his arms in an open invitation, only succeeding, in Horatio's knowing eyes, to look like a petulant child too stubborn to openly admit he wants a hug.

"…All right," Horatio pretends like he wouldn't have given in so easily, that he was making an exception, and it's a poorly played ruse that both of them see through quite clearly, but it's routine and it's stable and it's comforting.

Horatio situates himself to lay beside Hamlet, automatically adjusting his cloak so that it will cover them both, his arms folding around Hamlet's shoulders and tucking him under his chin, his legs tangling with Hamlet's. Completely in synchronization, and it would be unnerving if Horatio hadn't given up on dwelling on such things, Hamlet's arms wrap tightly around Horatio's torso as he buries himself into his chest.

"I killed you," Hamlet mutters at length, still holding Horatio impossibly close.

"What?"

"I don't remember how or why, but I killed you."

Horatio can't think of anything else to say but, "Ominous."

Hamlet hums and nods in agreement before drifting off to sleep. Horatio wonders if Hamlet was ever fully awake to begin with.

* * *

When Horatio wakes up with no recollection of having fallen asleep in the first place, his first instinct is to clamber into some sort of defensive position, hands already steadying his revolver, mouth starting to form the questions where, and how, and who. He doesn't get very far in the questioning as a piece of bread hinders any attempts to form words.

"Sorry," Hamlet apologizes quietly.

"It's nothing," Horatio replies slowly around the meddling bread as he flicks the safety back on and sits down more comfortably across from Hamlet, carefully observing the prince.

"I'm sorry."

And for the first time in years, Horatio has no idea what Hamlet is trying to say and it makes him more uncomfortable than he wants to admit, even to himself. "What for?" he asks tentatively.

"This." Hamlet gestures vaguely to the air around them, refusing to meet Horatio's eyes.

"What about…this?"

"You told me once, when I had asked, that you knew how to fight, but you didn't like it, and you'd never wield a gun even if your life depended on it."

Horatio stares at him blankly. Had he said that? He could imagine himself saying that, once upon a time. He could vaguely remember probably telling Hamlet that once. "It's not my life that I'm worried about."

"That's not comforting at all," Hamlet almost whines.

Horatio smiles fondly, gently tapping Hamlet's temple with his knuckles. "Stop being so arrogant."

"But…" He finally looks at Horatio, eyes narrowed in accusation.

Horatio shakes his head, wishing they would just drop the topic. Ignore it for the rest of their lives. It had been working so wonderfully up until now. "What's the matter?"

Hamlet's expression becomes determined as he leans forward and gazes deeply into Horatio's wide, grey-green eyes. Had he read Hamlet incorrectly a few seconds ago? Was this it? Was this Hamlet doubting him? "I know you know I know that I know you won't leave me, but sometimes…sometimes I'd like to hear it."

Horatio swallows dryly. This conversation isn't going how he thought it would, but it isn't any more pleasant for it. It comes out of his mouth before he has a chance to think about it. It's a bad habit that Horatio's been struggling to get rid of for months, because Hamlet always looks so hurt when it happens, but in moments like this, it still slips out. "My lord—"

Disappointment flashes through Hamlet's ice blue eyes but Horatio isn't given a chance to amend his statement. "Everything's wrong with the world, we can't expose the lying snake for what he is, we hardly eat, you hardly sleep, I just want something to tell me it isn't completely hopeless!"

After a long moment of silence, Hamlet backs away. "I'm sorry. I'm being selfish."

"I don't mind. I want to be here," Horatio replies softly, knowing it's not what Hamlet wants to hear, but it's close enough, and life is all about compromises anyways.

Hamlet just nods in response, handing Horatio the rest of his portion of their meager breakfast, swiftly changing the topic. "Let's go over our plan again, okay? Everything has to be perfect."

Perfect is an understatement; if they messed up even one thing, there wouldn't be an "Oh well, we can try again later." To make matters worse, Horatio has a foreboding feeling about this particular plan that he just can't shake, but it's their best shot and they have to take it.

* * *

The night during which the plan is to be executed approaches uneventfully. There is a masquerade being held the next night, and although neither of them is entirely sure if anyone knows what it's for, it serves for the perfect opportunity for them to slip in under the king's nose.

"You should sleep, 'Ratio," Hamlet murmurs.

Horatio glances at Hamlet for a moment before going back to stare out the window of their new, still slightly rundown but not abandoned, apartment. His relaxed posture in his chair belies his anxiety for the next night. He can feel that something is going to go wrong, but he doesn't know what or to what extent, and it's beyond aggravating. "Maybe later."

Hamlet grumbles under his breath before extricating himself from the entirely too comfortable bed to show Horatio just how much he disapproves of this. He crosses his arms and frowns for all he's worth. "_Maybe later_?"

Horatio's lips quirk into an honest, albeit wan, smile. He doesn't want a repeat of the conversation from several days ago, having already given in. He unfolds one of Hamlet's arms so that he can press his lips against his knuckles. "I love you, Hamlet."

Hamlet's expression softens and he squeezes Horatio's hand in appreciation. After a moment, he says, "Horatio."

"Yes?"

He carefully places one knee on Horatio's chair so that he can lean closer to him. "I love you, too."

Horatio openly stares at him in shock, moving his mouth in half hearted attempts to form words. Finally, he sighs and closes his eyes, letting Hamlet's hand go. "I thought we talked about this."

Hamlet frowns. "I thought so, too. I also thought we agreed that whenever I decided to finally explicitly say something about this, you would accept it, no protestations?"

"Yes, but…" Horatio trails off, not needing to voice the rest of his sentence. _That was because I didn't think you ever would._

Hamlet presses his lips firmly against Horatio's, all determination as he tries to prove to him that he isn't confusing this from pity. As he begins to pull away, certain that he more than proved his point, Horatio does the opposite, cradling the back of Hamlet's head and pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. The movement is sudden and unexpected enough to force Hamlet to immediately reposition himself so that he doesn't end up painfully knocking them both over onto the floor.

The kiss is soft and intense all at once, gradually becoming heated and steadily threatening to tumble into something much more. Before this can happen, Horatio separates them, both of them slightly breathless.

"Hamlet—"

"I know."

Horatio shakes his head and gives him a quick kiss. He holds Hamlet's face in his hands and looks into his eyes intently as he speaks. "No matter what happens tomorrow," his next words are strong, yet barely a murmur, "I'll never leave you."

Hamlet laughs breathily, almost humorlessly, kissing him softly. "Sounds like a goodbye." His lips brush against Horatio's as he speaks.

Horatio quietly looks at him for a moment, searching his expression. Hamlet can feel it, too, this strange, inexplicable trepidation. _Something is going to go wrong, but we need to do this._

"Maybe it is."

A small smile graces Hamlet's lips. "Optimistic, aren't we?" He drops the achingly feigned expression just as quickly, leaning forward and brushing his lips against Horatio's ear. "You should sleep tonight, 'Ratio."

Horatio hums and brings Hamlet in for another kiss, not bothering to restrain himself anymore. They're definitely breathing heavily this time when Horatio pulls away just enough to quickly mumble, "Okay."

_You're everything I have_.


End file.
